


take the world together

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: trope_bingo, Gen, M/M, fork in the road
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 23:43:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12119856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: How do you tell one of your best friends that you’re giving up on music? That you were throwing away the career you’d both worked so hard for, that you’dcompetedagainst each other for?





	take the world together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spikedluv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/gifts).
  * Inspired by [this crush ain’t going away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11856993) by [Spikedluv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv). 



> Cook and Archie have both said that there were times in their life when they considered walking away from music. This was my attempt to explore that, at least briefly.
> 
> This was written in response to a 'trope bingo challenge' between Spikedluv and myself. We had a one week deadline and a minimum word count of 1500 words to write for one of the tropes we shared on our trope_bingo cards (in this case, Fork in the Road). Clearly I was absolute _garbage_ at adhering to the deadline (I'm so sorry! D:), but I did manage to meet the word minimum this time instead of going over, so. Progress?
> 
> Speaking of, Word says this is exactly 1500 words, so if AO3 says any differently, it _lies_.

Cook was nervous – unaccountably nervous – as he waited in the café, eyes trained on the door. His coffee sat untouched on the table in front of him; he was on edge enough as is, didn’t need the caffeine to make it worse. 

This wasn’t a big deal, he told himself. He was meeting a friend, that was it. A friend he hadn’t seen in a while, at that. He should be happy, not tense with so much fucking dread it was making his stomach sour.

But it was _Archie_ , and it had been three months since they were even in the same room, and Cook –

Well. A lot had changed. 

He wasn’t naïve enough to think that Archie didn’t know about it. Even if someone hadn’t told him, all it would have taken was a single glance at any of his social media pages, or even just a simple search of his name online for the articles and discussion boards and conspiracy theorists ( _Christ_ ) to pop up. 

Or maybe even just the video. 

He hadn’t wanted to release a statement, felt like making a video was more personal than a few lines of text on a screen. The first few weeks after he’d posted it he’d had some sort of sick compulsion to check the comments – they ran the gambit from shocked to disappointed to downright desperate for answers he couldn’t give, and eventually just looking at his phone had made him feel sick. The concerned calls and texts from friends had made him feel worse.

He hadn’t told anyone about his decision, not at first. His family, yeah, and the band. His manager. But that was it. He’d picked up the phone half a dozen times to call Archie, but each time he’d faltered, not knowing what to say, barely knowing how to broach the subject at all.

How do you tell one of your best friends that you’re giving up on music? That you were throwing away the career you’d both worked so hard for, that you’d _competed_ against each other for?

He felt like a failure. Like he was running away, throwing a tantrum like a kid just because things weren’t going his way.

But it was more than that, and he knew it. His reasons weren’t shallow, his problems couldn’t just be swept under the rug. Not anymore.

He hadn’t been happy for a long time. Working on his second album had exhausted him, had taken a toll on him that he hadn’t been prepared for, and now trying to put his jumbled thoughts to paper, trying to make something he was proud of, trying to make _music_ , was impossible. He felt stifled in L.A., suffocated by the city he’d made his home. There were mornings when he didn’t even want to get out of bed.

“David, honey,” his mom had soothed him, late one night during a phone call when he’d finally broken down and told her what was going on, “You can’t force yourself to be happy when you’re not. If a break is what you need, take it. Come home for a few days.”

The offer was tempting; hell, just getting out of Los Angeles was tempting. He’d already packed his bags days ago – though his destination was uncertain. There was just one thing he needed to do before he left. He couldn’t go before he’d seen Archie. Talked to him. Tried to explain… well, everything.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the bell over the door jingled, and Cook glanced up just in time to lock gazes with David Archuleta for the first time in three months. 

Despite the anxious twist of his stomach, Cook’s lips stretched into a grin of their own accord, as they always did around Archie. Something about the boy’s familiar smile and bright eyes never failed to put him at ease, and it was no different now. He rose from his seat to pull Archie into a hug, arms tight around his shoulders in an embrace that bordered on desperate. “Long time no see, Archuleta,” he said as he pulled back, and there was no hiding the waver in his voice. 

The concern on Archie’s face was unmistakable. His hands lingered on the small of Cook’s back before pulling away, but he took his seat without question, saying, “It’s good to see you, Cook,” in his familiar soft, raspy voice. His hands fluttered in the air for a moment before settling on the tabletop. “I’m glad you wanted to meet. I’ve missed you.” He looked a little startled after the admission, as if he hadn’t meant to make it, and Cook had to swallow around the lump in his throat. 

He’d never meant to shut Archie out, but the thought of talking to him, of telling him about all of the doubts and the depressive episodes and the fear that had plagued Cook for so long – it curdled Cook’s stomach. He knew Archie would never condemn him, would never see him as anything less no matter what Cook said or did, but that knowledge was of little comfort at the moment. Cook was terrified. 

As if sensing his distress, Archie reached out for his hand, hesitating for a moment before slipping his fingers over Cook’s. “Cook?” he asked softly. “Are you okay?”

It was ridiculous, how often Cook had been asked that question lately. He’d never known how to answer before – no, he’d known how, he’d just never _wanted_ to, even if the answer squirmed on the tip of his tongue. _No_. “You saw it, didn’t you?” he asked instead, knowing he wouldn’t have to explain what he meant.

The video had been short, to the point. He’d explained that he was taking a break, he needed some time to get himself together, and that music, touring, performing – all of it – would have to be put on hold. 

Archie didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. The expression on his face, the way his brows furrowed and the sad curve of his mouth was proof enough.

“You never said anything,” Cook said. Not accusing, just stating a fact. 

Archie shook his head, his fingers twitching over Cook’s, as if he wasn’t sure whether to pull away or tighten their grip. “I wanted to hear it from you,” he confessed, and Cook nodded, drew in a shaky breath.

He talked. He told Archie about the last few months – the last year, really – and the steadily creeping tendril of unhappiness that had slowly but surely threatened to choke him. He spoke about the desperation, the sense of being trapped, how he’d struggled just to force himself to function, let alone sit down and produce something he was actually proud of.

And as he talked, he saw something he’d yet to see from anybody else. When he’d told his manager, told the band, they had all given him the same look, the same mix of concern and sadness and – ultimately – acceptance. The look of someone who didn’t understand what you were going through but supported you, anyway.

And he could see shades of that in Archie’s face – the concern, the distress of a friend who was unhappy that you were suffering, but there was more to it, too, a layer of something that Cook had yet to see in anyone else. _Understanding_. 

It hit Cook like a bullet train, sudden and all at once. Archie had drawn up like a bow string in the course of their one-sided conversation; Cook could feel the tension just in the curve of Archie’s fingers over his own, where they’d rested the entire time. In a startling moment of clarity, he took in the tired droop of Archie’s shoulders, the shadows under his bright eyes. He had failed to notice both in his preoccupation, but the signs seemed glaringly obvious now. 

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Archie asked, his eyes trained on their hands. He was hiding, Cook realized, and something crumpled inside his chest. He had a feeling he knew why. 

“I am,” he confirmed, watching the shutters come down over Archie’s eyes, the same tired acceptance that Cook had grown intimately familiar with. It was the look of someone who was losing their last lifeline. He’d seen it too many times in the mirror not to recognize it now. “I thought about taking a trip.”

“Going home?” Archie guessed, pasting a smile on his face. Cook wanted to reach over and wipe that falseness away.

“Just _away_ , more like. I don’t think the destination really matters.” 

Archie nodded, like that made perfect sense. And maybe it did, Cook thought, to someone who wanted to get away, too.

And maybe he was wrong, maybe he was just projecting his own issues, but that didn’t stop him from opening his mouth, from asking, “Come with me?”

Watching Archie’s reaction – the wide-eyed, startled surprise, followed by a spark of cautious hope – cemented Cook’s resolve, and confirmed his suspicions.

He already knew what Archie’s answer would be.

**Author's Note:**

> This totally sets me up for that cookleta run away/road trip fic I've always wanted to write, don't think I didn't notice.


End file.
